Alistair's Rose
by depositink
Summary: His rose is all she has left.


**A/N: Well, honestly I wrote this awhile ago and I thought I might as well post it here. It's not a very long read, but hopefully a good one. This is my first oneshot and my first story posting in two years. Um... enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or any characters.**

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She clutches the rose, his rose, closer to her. The smooth stem threatens to snap in her hands. She can not believe it has lived this long. The rose is the color of the darkest red wine in all of Thedas. If only she understood the look he gave her before he took off. If only she stopped him. Her body begins to tremble and a warmth trickles down her cheeks. Fresh tears follow the path of the ones that came before. She closes her eyes, silently praying to Andraste.

_"No," she says to herself breathy. Realization of what he is doing hitting her like a charging ogre. "No, Alistair!" She yells his name, wishing her will alone can stop him. _

_ The roar of the Old God mocks her. Her legs unable to move, her arms have no strength to pick her up, and her heart dives and thrashes in her chest. Her breath is caught in her throat as she watches him in slow motion. Each step he takes kills her._

_ He doesn't look back as he picks up a discarded darkspawn sword. The scrapping of the sword against the stone forces time to move faster. She jolts from her place on the cold ground and makes chase. Her feet pounding into the stone as she ties to push herself faster. Her body cries as the arrowhead in her thigh rips through muscle. She moves to late, she is too slow. She watches the love of her life sever the head of the dragon. The scream of pain escapes the dragon, stopping her sprint. Her vision blurs with tears that she can no longer control. She falls to the floor, her knees sting from the careless plummet. Fresh tears cascade down her face. She squeezes her eyes seeing red. Her fists beat the stone. Her hands shake as warm blood seep from fresh wounds._

_ "Why Alistair, why?" she whispers to herself. She feels a warm hand on her shoulder giving her some strength._

_ "Alistair did this for you, because he loves you." A brittle voice of the old mage seems muffled, "May Andraste guide him to our Maker's side." Trying to find solace in Wynne's words, trying to see the wisdom that is surely there, she finally stands. She looks at her blood on the stone roof of Fort Darkon._

_ She hears a whine and wet licks cleaning the blood from her hands. She looks up, tears still falling from her eyes. A small smile pulls at her lips, masking the pain. She raises her hand and places it on the loyal mabari once he finishes cleaning. She slowly runs her hand over his brown fur, it stiff with blood, but still brings comfort._

_ She looks at the body of her Alistair, her only love, the man who gave her the strength to see the good in a corrupt world. He was the man who always made her laugh, made her feel awkward, and made her feel loved. She will never see his smile, his blush when he gets embarrassed. He will never say 'I love you' to her again. Her body trembles uncontrollably. Looking once more at the lifeless body, she turns leaving._

The rose is the only thing she has to remember him. The memorial, his memorial, is set to be tomorrow morning. She has to keep herself composed. She cannot cry at the ceremony. No, The Hero of Ferelden does not cry, well not in public. It has been four days since the battle and since Alistair became her hero.

She walks towards the window in Arl Earmon's estate in Denerim. The clouds are heavy with battle and the sky is sad from death. Looking over the market of Denerim, she sees a city foreign to her. The once proud city destroyed from war. Buildings clasped on to the dirt streets and roads block from debris. A soft knock comes to the door. She ignores the sound and focuses once more on the town outside. She hears a creak from the door opening and a soft click from it being closed.

"How are you holding up," A voice thick with an accent asks from behind her. A small smile pulls at her lips.

"As best as I can," she says smiling at the person. A scowl crosses his handsome face. She can't decide if it was from disappointment or sympathy. Zevran's long blond hair thrown up in it's usually style. She sigh audibility and the smile begins to fade, "not so well." She faces her back to the door again trying to keep her friend from seeing her breakdown.

"Your crowd is waiting, Hero of Ferelden." He says, trying to lighten the mood of his dear friend.

"Zevran don't call me that," she turns to him, "I'm not a hero."

"If you are not a hero than what would you call yourself?" He leans against her bed post.

"A coward," She moves to the white vanity opposite him. The wood cravings are painted in gold and looks as if it has never been used. "I didn't stop him. I didn't even try. I just stood and watch him die." She looks at herself in the mirror. This so called Hero of Ferelden is a laughing stock, her eyes bloodshot and her face blotchy.

"A beautiful coward, if I must say," Zevran grins at her through the mirror. The 'Hero' laughs quietly. She looks to her bandaged hands to see the rose she still be cradled. "I will wait for you down in the main hall. Wynne and I will ride with you to the palace." She watches him left, her hands laying out on the vanity while she holds the rose. Zevran opens the door and steps outside the room. "Oh, my dear Wynne," he calls to the older woman. "I need your perfect bosoms to grieve." She smiles at her Zevran's antics, as he closes the door behind him.

She begins to clean herself in a basin of water. She must look presentable to the Queen of Denerim. Anora announces her title of Hero of Ferelden today. She clenches the sponge in her hand making her arms shake. How can they call her a Hero? She did not deserve the pleasure of being one. Alistair is the Hero of Ferelden. He saved everyone, he saved her. She looks up towards the stone ceiling trying to control the tears from escaping.

"Alistair, my love, can you believe they call me a Hero." She looks at the rose on the vanity beside her. "I'm sorry Alistair. It's my fault you are dead, but I could not bring myself to ask you to sleep with Morrigan." The name of her dear friend, who taught her much on their travels, brings another pain to her heart. She forces down the memories of the woman. "Will I did ask, but you believed it a joke," A forced laugh releases itself from her. "I know how much you hate her, but she is a good friend." She says and smiles sadly thinking about Morrigan. "Alistair, do you hate me? I hate myself." She closes her eyes trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape. "I should have die up there."


End file.
